(Fan) | New Age | (M)

(Fan)tasy/Spiritual
(M)ature




new age takes place in a modern-esque setting filled with sheer fantasy and bizarreness. Avon, the protagonist, finds herself in the middle of the collision of alpha and omega, facing an unimaginable terror and a grotesque, fantastical quest along with the mysterious Manes and his deadly organization. This fiction is also my concept of a futuristic Legend of Zelda.

About this fan-fiction:

-This narrative is dark and possibly inappropriate in most cases. Such inappropriateness comes indirectly and is never specified directly or in sudden brusque manner. The level of grotesqueness is up to your mind.
-Keep in mind that this fan-fiction is a parallel to our present universe but posses other characteristics, just as Ocarina of Time is a parallel to the Middle Ages. This in hand, everything pretty much exists in this fan-fiction’s setting-- vehicles, communication devices, similar fashion/clothing, etc. Some things appear more futuristic, others seem less advanced than what we have in real life.
-I, the author, assure that this fan-fiction is like no other and contains high level of excitement and interest. Please enjoy.

Index:
Chapter 1: A New Kind
Chapter 2: Nature’s Wind
Chapter 3: Sense
Chapter 4: Nature’s Wind (Reprise)
Chapter 5: Feral
Chapter 6: Vertigo
Chapter 7: Sir Keaton’s Dream
Chapter 8: Slumber Party
Chapter 9: Endless Night
Chapter 10: Bedtime Story




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Misc.:



Reader List (PM):

Chapter 1: A New Kind

And so the wind blew, the sky darkened in bright hues of gray, and birds departed the view. The scent of rain and earth emanated. The blood of ethereally dressed persons began to feel weight. The darkness illumined still. They entered sacred ground and holiness. There was a presence of silence and highest respect. Pure White and Black. Ascending dark Red-- that of flesh and blood. Red. Brusque cacophony.
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Her breath grows in weight. The man turns his head.

“Miss? Ah--”

She turns to the side. The young man continues driving. The window behind him closes. “She mustn’t be disturbed,” he whispers.
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“Ecce! Irtson rocsipxe medae nemul!”

White.

The sailors began to manipulate massive machinery and objects to locate the Finding. Thousands of men yelled and spoke in indistinct language. White-- it all turned white. Three luminous figures descended from the zenith.

Black.

Confused voices chanted in cacophony, and there was a surge of raving madness. No one could comprehend each other.

Red.

It was all lost. Violence rose…

The persons stood silent still in the sacred ceremony. Black and White veils faced each other. Red slowly advanced towards the couple.

White.

The woman in ethereal dress and White veil sat outside in the rain, weeping with seemingly despair… Man in Black and woman in White slowly uncovered their veils. The Red veiled man spoke in a strange language.

White.

The woman in White stood still looking at a mirror. The reflection showed the Red veiled man entering the room behind her. There was a White view once more. She uncovered the Black veil of the man in front of her. Chapped red lips and pale skin were revealed before her sight.

Black.
She walked still in a distant place where there were no mountains. Her dress was full of dirt and worn out. The veil still covered her face. She fell to the scorched ground. And alas, she saw ashen fog in front of her. She returned to it.

Black.
She entered the dark and peaceful bliss. Her hand was that of ivory, and she reached another of rich dark velvet. The hands touched until Red eyes began to gaze. It faded to Red as explicit views emerged.

Red.

When all light was granted, Mutilation rose and Blood ran fluently. Spuriousness gracefully traveled from the soothing voices of men. Confusion spread as darkness, and men sought light under the shadows. Iniquity conquered law and counseled the thunder. Skins, many in color, moved aimlessly on top of one another, seeking the light.

Red.
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She gasps. She rises rapidly and looks about as if half-awake. She hits her forehead gently with her hand as she drops to the back of her seat and sighs. It is cloudy and moist outside. She knocks on the window in front of her.

“Ah, you woke up.” He smiles and opens the window. It seems as he, too, just woke up from reverie. “Enjoyed your rest, Miss Avon?”

“Where are we?” Her tone sounds that of annoyed and fatigued. She rests her hand in her forehead still.

“Ah-- on the way to the convent, Miss. Have you forgotten?” he chuckles.

“Oh, yes. The convent…” She turns to side and enjoys the landscape as the vehicle advances in the empty road.

“Is there something wrong, Miss?” His laugh begins to fade.

“Don’t talk to me and close the window,” continues in her annoyed tone. For odd reason, the chauffeur’s voice sounds too heavy and unpleasant to the ears. The chauffeur is dominated by shame and silence. He closes the window.
Avon opens the window to her left and takes in moist air through her mouth immediately. She is merely suffocating.
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“Osiv. Medae rotidart--”

“Speak no more, insolent! How dare you speak in such! Your tongue deserves to be cut into pieces!” he shouts with much anger. His eyes are wide open, and blood drips from his beat up mouth. The not-so-old man breathes heavily in pain-- his teeth clashed together and his gray hair standing straight up in mess. His upper body is bare, scattered by lacerations, and attached and trapped he is on a crude wall. The three men stare at his painful state-- their faces shrouded by darkness with their hooded dark red robes. Two of the men begin to hit his stomach with a whip. He screams harder until one of the whips hits inside his very tongue. Blood descends from his mouth like a waterfall. Complete silence.

“Thou have been silenced by thy own self. Dost thou question why my tongue moistens in divinity and gift from the Holy? I was granted with this tongue. Thou, however, took mere control of this practice and exercised thy tongue for knowledge, which thou did not reach… My tongue’s grace to thee.” The robed man spits to the mutilated body.
The men step aside and unsheathe a small dagger from their hips. A small gold bar is encrusted on it.

“… This… is not in vain,” mutters the mutilated man.

“Indeed,” says the man in red as he approaches the hung body. “There is a war outside this very building. There is a mission, too, that we must achieve before an expected time comes. We follow our Divine Leader. We mustn’t be stopped by the heresy of men living in the world. Let us now practice our voice towards the unworthy.” They begin to chant loudly in dialect. One of the men throws the dagger to the center of the hung body. Another knife makes its way through the heart. The last pierces through the brain.
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“We are here, ma’am.” He exit’s the vehicle, blocks the rain with an umbrella, and opens the door for Avon. He hands the umbrella to her.

“Thank you, Bernard. Ah-- wait for me here. I won’t take long.” She walks straight towards the Morning Star Temple and Convent. Slowly she goes through the old and undulated stone path towards the massive structure.
The ancient building brings Avon old memories of her childhood-- dark memories of the harsh strictness in her early education to odd noises and events happening within the convent. She walks still impressively in her high heels, wearing a long and fitted trench coat. Her luminous dark brown hair dances gracefully with the harsh moist wind. Her lips seem chapped, and her skin is but an inch away from reaching paleness. She moistens her lips before arriving, and her glowing green eyes browse the scenery. The rain seems more tranquil than before, but not a trace of sunlight is to be seen.
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“Did you-- wait, where are you?”

“Can you please come now?” the voice of a distant woman says.

“What is it?” he shouts and then continues whispering. “Look, you have to tell me everything briefly, the stone is breaking--”

“He’s getting worse! He’s crying!” she yells again.

“Damn it! I’m going!” He tosses the table and all other objects to the side in anger. He heads towards the problem…
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The massive doors of the temple open.

“You arrived,” says the pale nun with deep raspy tone, “I’m afraid the priestess has left.”

“Oh. I-- did I arrive too late?” Avon says with disappointment.

“It is apparent. She won’t return within three days,” she answers with an added rasp in her throat.

“Then I suppose I should leave.” Avon then stares at the pale old nun in silence. It is as if looking at the image of death itself.

“Perhaps. Good day.” The nun begins closing the doors.

“No!” Avon stops the doors. The nun widens her eyes. “I-- is the prioress here?” she questions as if with no other option.

“Yes. What is it that your visit requests?”

“May I please speak with her?” Avon doesn’t specify. The nun shrinks her eyes and makes yet another angry expression.

“Go to her then. I suppose you know where she lies,” the nun says. Avon nods without saying more words and enters the temple without even glancing at the old woman. The nun stares at Avon’s disrespect as she makes her way inside the building. The doors close. Faint darkness dominates. Hardly any light sheds through the stained glass windows. Only the echo of Avon’s footsteps is being heard.
Avon continues upstairs to the second level, being reflected by several mirrors. She knows that Prioress Rosirda usually lies in the library at the current time. Avon reaches the highly adorned double doors and opens them. Surprisingly, the library contains plenty of light due to its many clear windows.

“Avon?” She turns.

“Yes.”

“It is so nice to hear your voice again.” She stands and walks to Avon. Her white silk tunic and long head-tail deflect the strong rays of light. The holy red bar is printed in the center of her rich silk tunic. Her face with pale lips and wide forehead also seems to deflect all light.

“The priestess urged me to visit her today, but it turns out she’s gone.” They grab hands and bow making the traditional salute. They stare at each other’s faces. Avon’s smile begins to fade.

“Tell me, Avon, has your soul been cleansed recently?” she asks, introducing a serious face expression to Avon.

“Well, that is exactly my presence.”

“I see. You know I have the authority.”

“Yes.” She looks at the floor. “I suppose I should kneel and begin to repent?”

“You suppose? Ah, come. Let us go to a more appropriate place.” She turns and exits the library. Avon follows. They return to darkness and proceed through the hall.
Avon still wonders what lies behind many of those doors-- places that were said to be forbidden. The crimson door adorned with gold in the hall’s end was Avon’s main concern; she remembers vague sounds whispering from its ends.
They continue walking in the dark hall. The crimson door is now closer to them, and to Avon’s dismay, the prioress stops in front of it. She unlocks the door with an old rusted key. Avon and the prioress go forward through the unwelcoming threshold, greeted by the mysterious door’s unpleasant screech.
“Wait here,” the prioress commands. She closes the door and lets darkness dominate the area. Avon stands steadily as the prioress walks about. Her footsteps begin to fade.
A while passes and Avon begins to hesitate. There is complete silence.

“Everything all right?” she shouts at last. A flare of light is lit besides her. Avon gasps with fear.

“Do NOT yell,” the prioress marks in whisper. She walks ahead with the torch. Avon is merely relieved and follows.
An elusive room indeed-- Avon knows for certain that she has never been inside the chamber. Nothing special lies inside, however-- unused and damaged statues, paintings and other artifacts lay neglected in the corners of the dark room. Avon would expect sacred rituals or prayers to be held inside the chamber, but it is nothing but an old storage room. What are we doing here? It suddenly appears to Avon’s mind. They stop.

“Please kneel before me, for I have authority.” She places the torch in a stand.
Avon looks about and kneels slowly. The last thing running in her mind is repenting. Her body begins to feel weightless. Unusual thoughts run through Avon’s mind.
“I hear you, Avon. Allow me to cleanse your soul.”

“I--” Avon is fighting her sudden state. Her thin arms feel extreme weight. She’s leaving elsewhere, and her conscience begins to surrender to that force. She drops completely to the floor.

“Avon? What are you doing?”
.................................................. .........

Chapter 2: Nature’s Wind



“What do you mean he’s crying?” He walks into the room. “Oh, Lady! There’s blood coming out of his eyes!” Surprised he is at the sight.

"What should we do? I was calling you, but you never got here!” she yells with nervousness. The dark-bronze skinned woman sits besides the bed.

“I was talking to one of the guys-- Manes was supposed to be handling this, but he’s here crying out blood!”

“Yeah, well, do something!” she yells harder.

“Where’s Callas?”

“I don’t know, wasn’t she with the group?”

“I don’t know, she never says anything. If she is, then I hope she helps that person I was talking to.”

“Whom were you talking to?” she asks in haste.

“I don’t know, the new guy. What’s his name?” He tries hard to remember.

“Oh, him. I forgot, but I know he’s very focused and stealthy.”

“Then let’s hope he escapes before they grow suspicious of him. The stone broke, I couldn’t reach him anymore,” he sighs and then, “look-- he stopped crying! And-- what? Why doesn’t he have a shirt?”

“He’s sweating like hell, that’s why!”

“But you’ll kill him! It’s so cold down here!” he continues yelling. “Cover him!” He gets a chair immediately and sits besides the bed. He examines his eyes. The woman fetches a thick coat and covers Manes who is still unconscious.

“Manes, can you hear me?” she asks the unconscious man. “Should I slap him?” She turns and whispers to the other man.

“No!” he yells in whisper. They stare at him for a moment. It seems sound and movement left existence. Surprisingly, Mane’s skin, which often appears to be pale or slightly blushed, begins to tone. “Is he recovering?” They stare at him still. Manes opens his eyes. The man and the woman stand up in terror. They gasp and stand besides each other-- almost embracing. Manes begins to yell insanely in some sort of language. The man and the woman widen their eyes. He stops. Reprise of silence. Manes falls back unconscious once more. The man and the woman stand still with their widened eyes, looking at Manes who completely lost paleness. He opens his gray eyes once more and rises with a confused expression in his face.

“… What are you… doing in my place?” He asks half awake and later gaining full consciousness. He widens his eyes and puts his hand in his mouth. He stands immediately and runs to the bathroom. Sounds of hard coughing emanate. The man and the woman, still standing with widened eyes, realized they’ve been embraced with each other. They abandon shock and detach with slight shame from the realization.

____________________________________

“Avon? You cannot fall into this state in this sacred place. Not like this. You’ll be marked as a heretic!” exclaims the prioress, trying to wake Avon up somehow. Tears of blood descend from the closed eyes of Avon. The prioress gasps in terror, concealing her mouth tightly with her two hands. The bleeding stops soon after. “This must be the cause of foul actions. With this, I forgive you.” She kneels to Avon and raises her hand to slap her face. She is stopped immediately and then comes a complete pause of movement. Avon’s hand remains holding the prioress’s process of forgiveness tightly—her eyes closed still. The prioress widens her eyes just as Avon seems to awake. The prioress jumps aside, more terrified than ever.

“Nemul xallaf! NEMUL XALLAF!” Avon screams and rises with intense anger. She stops and drops to the floor once again. Her body shakes violently. The fine trench coat runs through the floor’s dust and her straight hair sweeps the floor with eyes shut and mouth open begging for air. She then awakens making an intense gasp, feeding her body with air. “What has…” she continues panting, “has… happened?” Avon begins to cry. Faint footsteps are heard in the distance.

“Please! Be silent,” whispers the prioress with a worried expression. She embraces with Avon who still weeps. “Now, now. Do you want them to see you? Like this? I am protecting you from their sight. They watch all about. They hear everything. Do you want to be seen and heard like this?” The prioress rests Avon’s head in her chest. “They’ll know, Avon. And they will show no mercy. Not in this time. Please!” She removes the stains from Avon’s face and neck and stretches her skin gently to avoid her having a suspicious complexion.

“Who?” Avon questions, relieving from pain and confusion. She sighs taking that last breath to fulfill her air level.

“Not to worry. That’s why I am here. You have been forgiven. I believe you are being awaited outside. Come, your task here has finished.” She pads Avon’s facial skin gently to give it color, adjusts her hair, and removes the dust off from the trench coat.
They walk back to the crimson doors with the torch at hand. “Wait here,” she whispers. Avon nods as the prioress extinguishes the torch in a nearby deep bowl of water. She opens the door slowly, peeking through the open space. No one appears to be on sight. “Proceed quickly.” They exit the chamber and walk a small distance further in the hall. “My feet stop here, Avon. You have been forgiven, and your life goes refreshed. You can always count on me, for I love you deeply,” the prioress says-- her serious face expression has not changed a bit. She grabs Avon’s hands tightly and bows.

“Thank you. Whatever happened, I will carry on.” Avon makes a slight smile. There is a moment of silence after her words.

“The sun has risen, and your face seems rather unusual,” she says after a moment and then opens the double doors to the library, letting in plenty of light to the hall. “Please do wear eye covering to make yourself comfortable. I hope you to be safe on your way back. And do not forget, Avon, to pray to Them one hundred times, for They shall speak to Her and enhance your forgiveness, and for you have a mere voice to Her.” She enters the library. “Away,” she requests and closes the doors.

Avon descends to the first level and walks towards the exit. The sound of the echo of her footsteps stops, as she looks for her sunglasses in her small handbag. She senses someone nearby and uppers her view to the distance of the temple. A figure shrouded by darkness walks in a perfectly straight path-- it seems to be a nun floating rather than walking. The person dissolves in the distant darkness. Avon locates the eyewear.
She opens the massive door and is overwhelmed by the rays of sunlight. The door closes by itself behind her. She dons the sunglasses and walks towards the black vehicle. Bernard is seen sitting on top of the vehicle and spots Avon walking towards him. He stands on the ground immediately.

“I’m finally back. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” She arrives.

“Not a problem.” He smiles and opens the door for her. “How was your visit, miss?”

“Ugh, it’s going to take forever to get home,” she comments, not responding to Bernard.

They head off back to the path they came from. It takes approximately two hours and a half to reach the city’s outskirts and some time longer to reach Hazel Scholar where Avon currently studies. Half an hour passes as Bernard reaches Death‘s Path, a road that awfully lacks infrastructure and possesses the finest of narrowness. Though dangerous, accidents and deaths are ironically rare perhaps due to the extreme low level of traffic. The sun is begins to be seized by dark clouds, and it begins to rain.

“Ah, stupid rain. Not to worry, miss, I’ll drive slowly and cautiously. We’re almost there,” assures Bernard.

“Yeah,” mutters Avon without much attention to his words; rather, Avon is not paying attention. She views the foggy forest below the hills. She then looks at the mirror reflecting Bernard, a young fellow perhaps a year or two older than her with dark hair, tanned-white skin, and a complexion that doesn’t seem to know anger. The indifference of Avon towards Bernard is more than obvious. She wonders how he ended up being her chauffer. “What was that?”
An indistinct sound of perhaps gravel is heard in the upper distance of the mountainous area.

“I don’t know. Should I stop and check?” He slows down and begins to get nervous.

“No, keep going. I doubt it’s anything.” But she is curious. “I’m just going to take a peek.” She opens the window to her right and slightly peeks her view up. Her reflexes return her face and eyes back to the automobile immediately. A small amount of debris begins to fall upon the vehicle. Dust and earth begin to cover the driver’s window. “Slow down a bit, Bernard!” It is not sooner that the earth begins to tremble.

“It’s alright, Avon. Ah-- Miss Vidiris. I got it under control,” he assures nervously. An immense boulder crashes just behind the moving car.

“Bernard! Do something!” she screams. More heavy debris falls from the jagged hills. The ground shakes more and the wind roars furiously. Bernard loses control of the car.

“It’s alright, it will stop!” he screams as he sees a shadow growing in size in a very nearby distance. Bernard and Avon scream in terror as he steps on the brakes and slides the car to the side. The boulder hits an inch in front of them, putting the car in complete stop. Not a trace of relief to be felt yet, for the ground is shaking more than ever. Half of the road collapses below to the eternal fog leading to the forest, taking the black vehicle along with it. They remain screaming in terror as they fall. The car stops vertically in the jags of the hill.

“We can make it, Avon!” he pants heavily as he manages to open his door.

“What are you doing?” she screams, running out of breath.

“I’m getting us out of here!” He climbs out of the car and into the loose edges of the remaining hill. “Climb just a bit up, and I’ll pull you out!” The wind makes another roar.

“I can’t!” She climbs the seat above her as the car slides down further vertically. Avon’s heart beats in rapidness. The car slides down further.

“Come on, Avon!” Bernard climbs down further to get reach out for her. She can no longer handle it. Fear has defeated her. Avon faints and drops back to the end of the vehicle. The car falls completely and dissolves into the fog. “Avon!”

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Chapter 3: Sense

“123: Communication unsuccessful: Repeat Code. 12--” stops the automated voice. A man wearing dark garments approaches mounted on a white horse-- his face shrouded in darkness by the hood of the garment.
“Throw that device below and state your name and identity,” he takes out a weapon and points at Bernard who immediately throws the phone to the side.
“I am Bernard Kohl. I am a chauffer, and an accident just--”
“Enough. Follow me,” commands the mysterious man.
____________________________________

“You have a letter.” He hands out the letter.
“Alright, leave.”
“Call us if there’s anything wrong.”
“Just leave.”
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She awakens. There are many candles adorned about the place, and a few torches are placed on the walls of what seems to be a cave. The air’s aroma is that of pure water and incense. Avon coughs, bringing an intense pain to her throat. She touches her neck gently to emolliate and ease the pain. Complete silence. Her skin feels the warmth of the dancing flames. It feels so soft. She passes her hands through her slim arms and body with eyes closed. Her hair appears to be humid-- her sense of smell describes the fragrance of unknown grace.
“Where am I?” The thought finally appears in her mind. She notices that her feet are bare and appears to be wearing her white blouse and the brown shorts she was wearing under her trench coat. She turns to the side and sees darkness from the distance of the light. Avon throws the rags of quilt to the side and lowers to the wet floor, walking carefully to the other side of the area. Her gigantic shadow moves wildly along the humid walls as the small flames conduct its movements. She notices more light coming from above the ladder she reaches. The sounds of dripping water and light sparks of the torches reach her ears as she ascends slowly to the other level.
Her feet step on the more illuminated ground, and she walks forward towards the dead end of the wide chamber where many ragged dolls, pieces of crystal, and other fragments adorn the wall. To the side of the chamber lies a small round pool with pure crystalline water and pieces of herbs and other botanicals floating still on it. With her hands she pours water to her mouth, quenching her thirst in the most satisfying way imaginable.
Avon then examines one of the small worn out dolls with curiosity and then passes her hand trough the shards of crystals and stone fragments that hang from thin strings that seem to fade above in the darkness-- the sound is so pleasing to her ears. Avon moves her hands through more of them as the ears demand more sound to be made. She spreads her arms to the sides and dances in circles, pushing all the stones to all directions as they cling and crash together, casting more soothing sounds. Avon continues with her eyes closed and mouth presenting smile as all the fragments begin to form a wide whirlwind-- she finally stops and views the flashes of the stones as beams of light crash with them. The pleasing sound of the stones grows in strength, and sounds of ethereal voices seem sing along the whirlwind. It comes to sudden stop. The fragments float still in the humid air, and the smile on Avon’s face disappears completely. The stones descend slowly to their original position without making any sound. Complete silence.
“What is this place?” She wonders once more. An indistinct sound of perhaps a moan is heard in the distance. Avon turns around completely with a worried expression on her face. Then, it becomes clear to her, that the sound of the echo rumbling about the cave is that of shoes-- women’s shoes. Then it comes: The fine beige trench coat and high heel shoes come walking out from the darkness and into the light. Avon widens her eyes. The tall hairy figure, almost three times the height of Avon, wearing the trench coat and standing taller in the shoes, walks towards her. Avon steps back as the horrid figure approaches her. Its face, hands, and the visible part of its legs are nothing but hair or fur. It approaches still. Avon faints in the hands of fear.
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“… this is what I ask of you, Ixiv, and it may be one of my last requests. Remember the days of your childhood when we used to hunt. There was a sacred place deep in that very forest, and that was the time when I told you that you would return to meet someone. The path has become more dangerous, but my faith in you is so great. The person must NOT see your face or even a small trace of your skin. That person, too, is more dangerous than the path. Remember my words and actions.
Yours,
--Sir Rolf Vidiris.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Manes closes up the letter. I haven’t talked to that man in years, he thinks, throwing the letter to the trash can. He gets off from the bed and goes to the nearby desk containing organized records and other paper work. He reaches for a turquoise stone of about the size of his palm, places it on a metal object, and closes his eyes. “Callas, can you hear me?”
____________________________________

Avon opens her eyes, and it seems that she still inside the cave. She rises, soar, looking at the distant exit of the cave and at the fog beyond it. She stands on the floor and looks about confused. Her throat feels numb and even inexistent-- she can not use her voice. She coughs, but not a sound to be heard from her mouth.
“What is going on? Is it morning?” She walks towards the exit as she begins to notice brown stains within the wet floor and undulated walls. Further she walks, almost arriving to the exit where pale trees begin to gain visibility. She looks to the side widening her eyes and makes an attempt to scream. Not a sound to be heard. Avon sees the tall beast lying dead in the floor. Perhaps the worse sight Avon’s eyes have ever reached. Next to the corpse lies a wooden club with sharp objects on the sides. Avon, for unknown reason, immediately takes possession of the weapon and runs out of the cave.

She continues running in her bare feet, crushing soft black mud and sticks on the ground. The fog appears to fade into evanescence slowly as faint rays of light beg the grey clouds for dispersion. The sound of birds, nearby insects, and a distant river fulfill the forest’s deepness. It appears, however, to contain a sense of unspeakable silence and enigmatic feeling. The surrounding trees make Avon run farther to her undecided destiny. An indistinct voice emerges-- Avon turns her head while running. She crashes into the crude bark of a tree, forcing her to fall to the ground. Consequently, the tree begins to tremble, making Avon drag herself backwards on the muddy ground. Thousands of furious moths come out from the holes of the tree and fly away as they blaze wildly through Avon. Once completely gone, Avon, having felt the worse of disgusts, uncovers her face with tears coming out of her eyes. Ahead comes a red figure out of the evanescent fog. Avon widens her eyes as the fox approaches; a real burgundy colored fox and not that of orange or brown. The fox reaches Avon’s hand and licks it. She rises from the ground slowly with her fine clothing now degraded in mud and dirt, looking at the fox. An eerie feeling emerges.
…………………..

Alright. 27 views and 0 posts. Not too bad Though I wonder if anyone has actually read at least some of it. I hope nobody misreads or gets a wrong idea based on the introduction-- this fiction is NOT a GTA version of Legend of Zelda and neither is it a sci-fi, Legend of Zelda story on Star Wars pills.
A few things I may have not mentioned:

-This fiction was transferred from another forum.
-It is an INCOMPLETE fan fiction with eleven chapters written so far. It is a fresh fiction to say the least. I didn't post all eleven chapters at once because that would make it unattractive. I'll probably post two more once I get at least one comment and/or PM regarding the fiction.
-There are probably more things I have not mentioned yet, but I can't think of any besides the two above at this moment.

So, please, if you have any comments or concerns, post them here or PM me =).